Heir Apparent
by Pegasus
Summary: A look at the trials and tribulations of being the second son in a world, quite frankly, gone barking, barking mad.


**Disclaimer bit…**

Harry Potter and the associated characters, spells, place names and other associated shenanigans are the property of JKR and the lovely people at Warner Bros. This story is purely for entertainment in a totally non-profit making way. The English language is the property of the Universe and if it attempts to sue me, I will be most impressed.

**Heir Apparent**

(Being an account of the childhood of Regulus Arcturus Black)

Chapter One: Brothers

"Not now, Regulus!"

Walburga Black snatched the parchment from her ten year old son's hand and threw it unceremoniously down on the table, turning her attention again immediately to the grave-faced man sitting opposite. Regulus glanced up at his uncle Cygnus and sighed quietly.

"Get out. Your uncle and I are talking and this is not the place for children."

The boy, slight, pale and as dark haired as his mother, picked up the drawing he had done and withdrew. He'd learned at a very early age that when Mother said he should get out, then it was most assuredly the appropriate course of action.

_Let's listen at the door, Reggie!_

He could almost hear Sirius whispering in his ear as he drew the heavy oak of the drawing room door towards him. His brother, who had gone off the previous week to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, leaving him, Regulus, alone for the first time since birth.

Leaving him alone to deal with the aftermath of the news that Sirius had been Sorted into Gryffindor house, breaking generations of tradition.

"We can't listen at the door Sirius," he murmured, automatically. "What if Mother catches us?"

_Then we run! You __**can**__ run, can't you, shrimp?_

Regulus put a hand absently to his hair to smooth it, forgetting just for the briefest moment that his brother wasn't there to ruffle it any more.

He sighed again and climbed the stairs to his bedroom. Since news had come of Sirius' Sorting, life had gotten increasingly difficult for the younger Black sibling.

He'd never realised just how much of an impact the departure of his brother would cause. It had been fun, last week, going with Mother, Father and Sirius to King's Cross. It had been fun going through the wall to Platform 9¾ and it had been fun to wave furiously as his brother rounded the bend, leaning out the window of the scarlet train. But it sure as heck hadn't been fun coming home.

"He had better not let down the family, Orion," Mother had said. "He is already proving to be a disappointment."

"Sirius will be fine," Father had said, settling back in the car and ordering the driver to take them back to Grimmauld Place. "He's a bright enough lad, isn't he?"

Father had never involved himself in the children's education, preferring instead to involve himself in what he called the 'important politics of wizarding society'. From what Regulus had been able to work out, through sheer observation (with the occasional sarcastic comment thrown into the pot by his brother) this apparently meant sitting in the Leaky Cauldron, drinking copious amounts of brandy and bickering about the state of bloodlines.

Regulus himself could recite his entire family tree back some four generations, even remembering the names that so frequently had escaped his brother. He'd once proudly sat before both his parents and done so. They'd gotten bored after Grandpa Pollux and sort of let their attention drift. Regulus had gone back to his room, disheartened.

Still, his mother had thrown a random tidbit of praise his way later that same day, so it had all been worth it in the end.

Mother's praise was as infrequent as cerise skies and Regulus hungered for it. He _loved_ his mother very much, perhaps too much at times, because Walburga, despite being in possession of a very definite fondness for her children – even Sirius, curse his Gryffindor genes – had never been terribly demonstrative.

Regulus was a remarkably insular boy, preferring the peace and quiet of his own bedroom and a stack of books to Sirius' rather vigorous games in the garden. Still, at least when Sirius had been here, he'd had a choice. Now he had nobody to play with.

A bitter resentment at his brother welled up inside him. If Sirius had gone to Slytherin like any proper Black, Mother and Father wouldn't have been screaming and shouting at one another the way they had been for the past week. Well, alright, perhaps they _might_ have done – there was nothing his parents seemed to enjoy more thoroughly than a good screaming match – but still, it was _clearly _Sirius' fault.

Regulus withdrew to his room and curled up on his bed, brooding slightly. His mother hadn't even resumed lessons with him since the news of Sirius being sorted into Gryffindor had arrived. She'd claimed that her delicate constitution needed to time to recover from the terrible shock.

Even at the age of ten, Regulus suspected that 'delicate constitution' was rather an exaggeration for a woman who was as strong as an ox and as feisty as they came.

Regulus had always been somewhat quiet and even a little immature, but he suspected, as he lay on his bed that day, that his life was never going to get back to the comparatively happy state it had been in only a mere week earlier.

Christmas came, as Christmas is wont to do and Regulus stood with his mother on the station at Kings Cross as the Hogwarts Express steamed into the platform. He had received a few letters from Sirius over the past three months, but their contact had been far more minimal than his brother had promised. However, the letter he'd sent saying that he would be home for the holidays had been cheerful and full of optimism and it was an excited little boy who rushed to greet his brother as he stepped off the train.

"Hey, Reggie!" Sirius looked, to the boy's adoring eyes, older somehow, more sophisticated. The older boy reached across and ruffled his little brother's hair with unashamed affection. "These are my friends, James, Remus and Peter." He indicated the other three boys who got off the train after him.

"Hello," said Regulus, awkwardly.

The three greeted him in kind and then Sirius turned to talk to his friends and Regulus was forgotten. He stood there, on the platform, caught up in the throng and glanced over at his mother. Her lips were tightly drawn together as she eyed Sirius' companions up and down in an obvious state of disapproval.

"I'll see you in the New Year," called Sirius to his friends, eventually leaving the huddle they were in and grabbing his trunk from the ever-increasing pile that was appearing on the platform. Regulus, caught somewhere between wanting to help and not wanting to intrude returned to stand next to Walburga. Sirius crossed to be with them.

"Mother," he said, in a formal tone Regulus had never heard him use.

"Sirius," she replied, equally formally.

And that was all they said to one another until they got home to Grimmauld Place. Then the shouting had started. Regulus had retreated to his bedroom again, but even with his pillow over his head he could hear his mother's banshee-like screech from the drawing room. She was making it more than evident to Sirius that she didn't approve either of his school house or his new friends. Sirius, in turn, was informing his mother that he was quite capable of making his own choices. Walburga was then explaining that whilst he lived under _her_ roof, he lived under _her _rules and Sirius was responding with the suggestion that he would be gladly willing to spend future holidays at Hogwarts.

It had all gone silent then, apart from the sound of stamping feet and Sirius' bedroom door, opposite his own, slamming tightly shut.

Slowly, Regulus prised the pillow from his head and stared at his ceiling. He suspected that things in the Black household were only going to get a lot worse.

His suspicions proved right.

Every day leading up to Christmas he found himself hiding in his bedroom simply to get away from the increasingly unpleasant arguments that his mother and brother were engaged in. For a twelve-year-old boy, Sirius could hold his own well and truly against Walburga's irrational outbursts and could also, it soon transpired, give as good as he got.

Christmas Day itself was only passably bearable for young Regulus. Every Christmas he could remember for the past several years, Sirius had rushed into his room early in the morning, shaking him awake.

Not this year, though.

Timidly, Regulus had knocked on his brother's door. Once Sirius had established it was him and not Walburga, he'd admitted Regulus entry. The bedroom was festooned with the red and gold colours of Gryffindor in an absolute act of defiance that startled young Regulus to the core. Sirius saw his brother looking around and smirked slightly.

"Mother said I wasn't to mention Gryffindor at all over the holidays," he said, by way of explanation. "So seeing as how she never comes in here, I figured this was my safe zone."

"If she _does _come in, Sirius, she'll be so angry." Regulus plunked himself down at the foot of the bed. "And then she'll shout at me because you'll be going back to school in the new year and you won't be here to shout at any more…"

"Has she been taking it out on you?" A look of fierce protectiveness came into Sirius' face and Regulus shook his head.

"No, not really," he admitted. "She avoids talking about it, really. If I mention you, she shouts a bit, but…" Regulus rubbed at his nose fiercely. "She says that you're a traitor to the family name, that no good ever came of wizards sorted into Gryffindor, that they're lily-livered weaklings…"

He tailed off when he saw the expression on his brother's face.

"Do you think I'm a weakling, Regulus?"

"No, but I…"

"Then ignore her. Let's not talk about it now, eh? Why don't you go back to your room and come back with the HUGE pile of Christmas presents that you've bought for me and you can have yours?"

And for a short time, they were just two brothers, enjoying one another's company.

If only it had lasted.

Sirius returned to school in the New Year with a promise that he would write more frequently. Caught up in the magic of his first year at Hogwarts, he'd not realised just how lonesome his little brother had gotten and the guilt meant that he kept his word and wrote once a week.

For a while, at least.

It alleviated some of the stress placed on Regulus' shoulders and as the weeks moved into months, as Easter came and went, he began to get excited about his own impending start at Hogwarts that September.

His brother didn't come home for the Easter break, remaining at school with his friends. This was at the same time a blessing and a curse for Regulus, who had to attend the traditional family gathering without his brother to hide behind. His eldest cousin Bellatrix, recently married to a man called Rodolphus had remarked on his slight appearance, had snootily suggested that a good gust of wind would knock him over and left him feeling self-conscious. His other cousins, Narcissa, who was in the sixth year at Hogwarts and Andromeda, who was in the third had, like Sirius, remained at school for the holidays leaving Regulus as the only child at the Black family gathering.

It was like Chinese water torture.

Aunt Druella looked him over doubtfully as though to say that he was a puny twig on the present final branch of the family tree. Regulus comforted himself with the knowledge that she looked at _everyone_ like that.

Worse still was the slow realisation that with his brother's apparently traitorous sorting, the weight of expectation was slowly, but steadily being shunted onto his, Regulus', shoulders. Grandpa Arcturus had made it abundantly obvious with his long (and surprisingly dull) monologue about the importance of the Black name in the wizarding world, about how it couldn't be pulled into disrepute, about Regulus being around the right age to start being considered for an appropriate marriage and worst of all, about how _disappointed everyone would be_ if Regulus wasn't sorted into Slytherin in September.

"No pressure," Regulus mumbled to himself, finding an opportunity to slip outside and away from the constant looks of suspicious disapproval that only a ten-year old amidst a group of adults could attract.

He sat outside on the garden step, looking out over the garden of his uncle and aunt and was somewhat surprised when his Uncle Alphard came out and sat down next to him.

"They giving you a hard time, lad?"

Uncle Alphard was one of the few family members who didn't constantly refer to Regulus as 'boy'. Even his own _mother_ frequently forgot the name of her youngest son. Plus, Sirius had confidently stated once that Uncle Alphard was as mad as a chocolate budgerigar, so he and Regulus had developed rather a soft spot for the somewhat eccentric man.

"Yeah. Sort of," admitted Regulus, with a little sigh. Alphard clapped his nephew on the back.

"Don't let them get to you, Reg," he said, in his cheerful tone. "They're all a bunch of old stick-in-the-muds who can't see past the end of their own noses. What does it matter which house Sirius has been sorted into if he does well in life, eh? What does it matter that YOU get sorted into Slytherin?"

"It…_matters_," said Regulus, with a furrow of the brow. "Everyone's said so."

_Several times._

"Ah, everyone's said so, have they?" Alphard nodded sagely and took a well-handled, battered pipe out of his pocket. He lit it and smoked in silence for a while. "Must be true then, eh?"

Regulus was only ten years old, but he could detect the note of sarcasm implicit in his uncle's voice. His dark eyebrows furrowed together in consternation and Alphard patted him on the back.

"Regulus," he said, taking the pipe out of his mouth. "You'll be whatever you're supposed to be. It doesn't matter if you're a Slytherin, a Gryffindor, a Ravenclaw or even, the gods forbid, a Hufflepuff. What you are is up here, my lad." He patted Regulus on the head. "And in here." He laid a hand on Regulus' chest, then put his pipe back in his mouth and leaned back to smoke contentedly.

Later that night, Regulus lay awake on his bed, thinking deeply about Uncle Alphard's words.

The time leading up to the summer holidays dragged unbelievably slowly. Sirius wrote when he remembered and Regulus' mind was filled with excited visions of what it would be like when he too attended Hogwarts in September. Lessons with his mother resumed their monotonous pace, but Regulus was often distracted, earning his mother's wrath on more than one occasion.

"You," she would screech – and Mother _did_ screech, there was no doubt about that, "are going to be as much a disappointment as your accursed brother! Pay ATTENTION!"

A cuff around the ear would normally follow and Regulus would resume his studies. Sirius had always been the bright one: Regulus was depressingly average. There was _nothing _he was better at than his brother.

Finally Walburga announced that there would be no more lessons and that Regulus was effectively free to do whatever he wanted. Had Sirius been here, that would have involved much bickering in the back yard, playing outlandish games of Sirius' creation, or building a blanket-fort in one or other of the bedrooms. Without his brother, Regulus spent much of the day in his bedroom, reading.

During this time, he developed a surprising bond with Kreacher the house elf. Until his brother had left, Regulus had barely noticed the house servant, distracted as he was by a combination of Sirius and life in general. But he discovered, trapped as he was within his own loneliness, that Kreacher was surprisingly good company. Not only because he was so subservient, but because he actually seemed to want to _listen_ when Regulus needed someone to talk to.

Childhood, he was rapidly deciding, wasn't for him.

Finally, the summer holidays rolled around and Regulus went with his parents to collect Sirius from the station. This time, however, he didn't rush to greet his brother. This time he stayed where he was, standing next to his parents, attempting to assume an air of indifference, trying to make himself appear older and wiser. Sirius had sauntered across and clapped his brother on the back so hard that Regulus almost fell over, somewhat ruining the carefully cultivated effect.

They had three glorious weeks together, largely ignored by their parents and resuming the bond that had been so badly torn. But all the time, Regulus was acutely aware that Sirius' heart wasn't really in it. By the fourth week of the holidays, the uneasy truce that Sirius and Walburga had made lay in ruins and the shouting resumed.

Regulus returned to his room and to lying on his bed with his pillow over his head wishing beyond wish that they would stop.

_Be careful what you wish for. It may just come true._

Regulus couldn't remember which one of his erstwhile relatives had thrown that little tidbit of information into the field, but it came to mind when days later, the shouting did, in fact, stop. The shouting stopped because Sirius had announced he was going to spend the remainder of the holidays with his friend James and his family. Regulus was heartbroken.

Sirius didn't even say goodbye.

Walburga made no effort to stop him, despite Regulus' rather uncertain pleas.

He wasn't to see his brother again until the first day of September, when he stood, feeling very small and scared, on Platform 9¾, waiting for his first day at Hogwarts. Walburga and Orion had pushed a bag of money into his hand, patted him on the head in what Regulus couldn't help but feel was a slightly condescending manner and had left him rather than stand and wave goodbye. Apparently there was some 'important family business' that required their attention and then they had gone.

He felt bereft, a piece of driftwood being carried along by a very strong tide.

He clutched at the small bag that contained his Hogwarts robe and watched anxiously as his chest was loaded into the baggage car along with everyone elses. He was bumped and moved along by the seemingly never-ending tide of people and eventually found himself on board the train.

And he still hadn't found his brother.

Now eleven years old, Regulus was small and undersized compared to many of the other youngsters who were passing by and he felt the old sense of inferiority creeping up on him. He dived into an empty compartment and sat down by the window, staring out at the bustle on the platform.

Time passed and slowly the numbers of people on the platform began to dwindle.

And he still hadn't found his brother.

Regulus sighed heavily and pulled a book out of his bag, settling down for the long trip.

He became aware of someone else entering the carriage and glanced up briefly to lock gazes with an older boy, with hair as black as his own although decidedly greasier. He looked about Sirius' age.

"You're a Black, aren't you." It was a blunt statement, not a question and Regulus set down his book.

"Regulus," he acknowledged. "Regulus Arcturus Black." Perhaps, he thought with mounting excitement mixed with trepidation, he was about to make his first friend.

"Your brother is a git."

The bluntness of the words startled Regulus and he ran a hand through his hair nervously. "Why do you say that?"

"Why should I tell you? I bet you're just like him. You're a git, too, aren't you?"

Regardless of whether Regulus may – or may not - have been a git, the greasy-haired boy dropped into the seat opposite Regulus and stared at him with a kind of suspicious intensity that made Regulus' skin crawl. He tried to ignore the other boy and looked back down at his book. He read and re-read the same sentence several times, then looked up to see the sloe-black eyes still fixed on him.

"What house do you want to be in?"

The question, like all the other statements from this strange boy, was blunt and direct and it took Regulus by surprise.

"Er…my family have all been sorted into Slytherin…"

"Except Sirius."

"…and I want to go there, of course…"

"Except Sirius." Merlin's beard, he was persistent. Regulus was almost sure that a bead of sweat had broken out on his forehead. He ploughed on regardless.

"…but my Uncle Alphard says that it doesn't matter what house you're in, that you are who you are. Labels are meaningless," he added, improvising wildly.

"Your brother doesn't think so. Your brother says that Slytherins are all rubbish. Does that mean he thinks his own family is rubbish?" The boy leaned forward, a nasty, spiteful look on his face. "Does that mean if _you _get sorted there, he'll think _you're _rubbish too?"

"I…" Regulus stared at the boy helplessly. "No, I mean, he's my brother…he'd never think something like that…"

Would he?

The greasy haired boy nodded in satisfaction and leaned back, folding his arms across his chest in what was an undeniably triumphant sort of gesture. He didn't say another word and Regulus, uncomfortable at his presence, tried to return to his book.

Time passed.

The Hogwarts Express rattled along and Regulus kept himself engaged in his book, consciously aware the entire time that the other boy was still in the carriage with him. He was starting to wonder whether he'd even blinked yet, when all chaos broke loose.

"HERE he is!"

Regulus looked up at the loud voice at the compartment door and a smile broke out on his face as he saw his brother standing there, with his three friends in tow. Sirius grinned at his little brother, but the grin faded when he saw the other person in the carriage.

"What are you doing here, Snivellus?"

_Snivellus? What sort of name is that?_

"I can sit wherever I like, Black, and this carriage was mostly empty."

"Not any more. In you come, fellas." Sirius slid the door open and James, Remus and little Peter trooped in and flopped down in various seats. "You remember my brother, Regulus?" He gestured at the small, slight boy in the corner who smiled in an embarrassed sort of way when the three greeted him effusively.

"And THAT," added Sirius, with an offhand gesture at the greasy-haired boy, "Is Snivellus. But I wouldn't bother talking to him, he's more poisonous than liver and onions."

Regulus disliked liver and onions more than anything else in the world.

"Um, hi," said Regulus to James, Peter and Remus, all of whom he remembered very well from their first meeting. After several moments of an uncomfortable silence, during which James and Peter flicked bits of paper at the boy Sirius had introduced as Snivellus, he finally got up and left.

Regulus leaned into his brother and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Is his name _really_ Snivellus?"

"Nah, Severus. But Sniv suits him _so _much more. He's a git."

_Funny. He said the same about you._

"He was wanting to know which house I wanted to be sorted into. I didn't think it worked like that. Doesn't the Sorting Hat select the house that's most appropriate for you?"

Sirius nodded and offered his brother a Bertie Botts Every Flavour Bean from a battered packed he had found in his pocket. Regulus took one. It was liver and onion flavour.

That figured.

"You have to walk all the way down the Great Hall – in front of _everyone_, then they make you sit on this stool," Sirius began, and James chimed in.

"Then McGonagall, she's head of Gryffindor House, she's strict but sort of cool in her own way, she plonks the Sorting Hat on your head…"

Remus took up the thread.

"And you hear this voice in your head, telling you where you should go…"

Peter finished.

"Sometimes it has to think about it a bit, but eventually it'll tell you which table you have to sit at."

James and Remus had been sorted into Gryffindor almost as soon as the Sorting Hat had touched their heads. Sirius had taken a few minutes and Peter's Sorting had gone down in Hogwarts history as one of the longest ever.

Regulus looked anxious. It wasn't so much the thought of what house he would be eventually Sorted into, but it was more the idea of having to sit there in front of the entire school and have his future pronounced. The thought flashed into his mind that Sirius would probably be really disappointed if he got sorted into anything but Gryffindor, whilst the rest of his family would be disappointed if he got sorted into anything but Slytherin.

The by-now all-too-familiar pressure of being second son exerted its load on his already troubled thoughts.

The train rattled on through the English countryside, houses thinning out until finally there was no sign of civilisation, just miles and miles of countryside. Regulus, who had grown up in the city was entranced by the scenery and stared out of the window, largely oblivious to the good-natured bickering that was going on in the carriage.

"Well, I still reckon that Filch will work out it was us," said Peter, sitting back with his arms folded across his chest. The quieter boy, the one called Remus shook his head.

"No," he said slowly, as though he had thought out every word carefully before speaking. "Because that would imply that Argus Filch has more than two braincells in his head."

"And we _all_ know that that's not the case, Peter," said James.

"He's probably spent all summer scrubbing himself to get rid of the itching," Sirius said with a wicked grin. "It was pure _genius _when James came up with the idea of making that potion and slipping it into his breakfast pumpkin juice. At least it got us out of last-day-of-term detention, eh, Mister Potter?"

"Right you are, Mister Black."

Regulus turned and regarded the group with curious shyness.

"Did you get detention?"

For some reason, this set all four of them off into uncontrollable laughter. When they had gained control over themselves, Sirius wiped his eyes and lay an easy arm over Regulus's shoulders. It was an easy gesture, simple affection and familiarity implicit, and it startled Regulus how much he welcomed it.

"Regulus," said his brother, trying (and failing) to keep his voice serious, "James and I got more detentions in our first year than most people get during the full seven years at Hogwarts."

Regulus's brow furrowed. There was unmistakable pride in his brother's voice, but he was almost certain that detention shouldn't be something to be proud of.

He said as much.

It was a mistake. The four Gryffindors howled with laughter again and Regulus blushed furiously. Sirius ruffled his hair and pulled him in for a rough, affectionate hug.

"It's not about the detentions," he said. "It's about the _style_. You'll see. We have a good laugh pulling pranks. Nobody gets hurt, we have fun – it's all good. You could join in with us if…"

Sirius stopped dead and wouldn't meet Regulus's eyes. Regulus knew what he would have said had the sentence been allowed to run its course.

_If you get sorted into Gryffindor._

Icy anxiety pierced Regulus's heart and he wriggled out of his brother's grip. "Maybe," he mumbled.

"It'll be fine, Regulus," said Sirius in an odd sort of voice. Regulus just nodded.

_Fine._

Regulus had a nasty sense of foreboding that nothing was ever going to be 'fine' again.

This story © 2007, S Cawkwell

HP & everyone in it © All the nice people mentioned above.


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